


If Only

by orphan_account



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Depression, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Trigger Warning I Guess?, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which i started writing, thinking it would end in fluff (and it didn't).</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only

 

 

_Dear Everyone_

  
“Hey, are you feelin’ alright?” your tall, curly haired friend asks, looking at you with concern pouring out of his gorgeous chocolate eyes. He knows you’ve been down in the dumps lately, he has seen the abundance of new, red lines on your forearms. They’re nothing serious, just what you’d call cat-scratches. The real terror is hidden under your jeans, carved into your thighs. You avoid eye-contact.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” It’s a lie. He knows it’s a lie. And you know he knows. But he drops it, doesn’t force you to indulge him. Instead, he rubs your back gently, not aware that the friendly, simple touch sends shivers down your spine, makes your heart ache.

“You know you can tell me everything, right?” he’s genuine, warm, his words sincere, but it leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth, makes you want to scream. It’s not his fault, you remind yourself. He doesn’t know how much you want him. You’ve decided it’s better this way, you don’t want to ruin your friendship. You give him a half-smile, try your best to make it seem natural. He accepts it.   
  


 

_I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry_

  
  
They’ve been talking behind your back for a while now. Not maliciously or with disgust, but with carefulness and love. Whispers of worry when they think you’re not around to listen. But you’ve heard it. Heard the sorrow in their voices when they’ve been afraid you won’t make it anymore. And it makes you cry. The last thing you want is for them to be pained by your depression, but you know there’s no helping it. This thing inside you has become a burden, not only for you, but for those who love you. It makes you feel utterly useless.   
  
Some of them have tried confronting you about it. Just last week, Suzy sat down with you alone, grabbed your hand with delicate, pale fingers, and pleaded with you. Begged you to let them help you. But it’s been going on for too long, the wounds have manifested inside of your body and spread like a cancer through you. You squeezed her fingers and told her not to worry about you. She embraced you, whispered with a tiny, shaky voice, “I don’t want to lose you”.   
  


 

_I’ve been holding on for so long now. Desperately. It’s so hard_

  
It’s Dan who finally breaks your hard exterior, who manages to pierce through the wall you’ve worked so hard to build between your suffering and them. You knew he’d be able to. He always knew how to see through your masks.   
  
“We need to talk,” he says, pulls you aside. He’s been grumping for hours, and he looks tired. There’s something else in his piercing, warm eyes. Sadness. It breaks your heart to see him like that, and knowing you’re the cause of it. You’re the only people in the grump room, Arin’s already gone to bed with Suzy, Barry’s gone home. It’s too late to have this conversation, your defenses are too low. He sits you down on the couch, doesn’t take his eyes off you. You’re sitting so close you can smell his aftershave, you can see every detail on his face. It’s distracting you, you can’t follow what he’s saying to you. All you can think of is his lips, watching as they part and close when he’s speaking to you. Itching to feel them against your own.   
  
Your heart pounds as you raise your hand, slowly, unsure. Careful fingers caress his newly shaven face and he stops mid sentence, stares at you. You wish you could read his eyes, wish he would take the next step. But he doesn’t, he just looks into your eyes, your soul, as you bring yourself closer. Your eyes close as your lips meet. Time stops and all you hear is the unsteady pounding in your chest. He doesn’t return the kiss, doesn’t move, paralyzed in a state of shock.   
  
Then he pushes you away. You know you’ve messed up. There’s panic in his eyes now, confusion.   
“We can’t do this,” he says, breaking your heart in the process. His reaction isn’t a surprise to you. You’ve known for a while that he doesn’t feel the same as you. That he’s out of your league. “We’re friends,” his voice is laced with sadness, you jerk away when he tries to touch you. “We’ve been friends for years, we can’t ruin that,” he doesn’t stop you when you rise from the couch, muttering a quick ‘sorry’ as you leave the room, not looking back.   
  


 

_If only I could change how I feel, I’d definitely do it for you_

  
  
You haven’t seen any of them since you stormed out of Arin’s house that night. You haven’t returned their calls or messages. You’ve been hiding in your bed, nursing your broken heart. Dan’s left fifteen messages, one more desperate than the next. Suzy’s tried to call you more than five times a day, but you haven’t listened to the voicemails. It’s too much. It’s too hard. There are cracks in your skin and every crevice is crying. But you’re resolute. You’ve come to terms with the reality before you. And it makes you feel strangely content. It’ll be over soon, you think to yourself, and it’s a comforting thought.   
  
You count the pills before you, double-check that you’ve got them all. You’ve done enough research to know that this will be enough to end you. With one last glance at the letter on the table, you open the bottle of clear vodka and swallow down a handful of the tiny, white tablets. It’s weird how tranquil you feel. You thought you’d be scared knowing your life would end in only a matter of hours, but you’re calm. The vodka leaves a nasty taste in your mouth, but you swallow another chug of pills and alcohol, struggling to keep it down. You’re already getting dizzy.   
  


 

_I hope you’ll be able to forgive me, please know this is not your fault. I love you all so much_

  
How many hours since you swallowed the last pill? You don’t know. Everything is blurred and uneven, you’re not even sure your eyes are really open. You’re dipping in and out of consciousness, unable to tell what is real or not. How long till it’s over? The last thing you see before your eyes close is a familiar figure in front of you. Red plaid shirt and long, dark curls. It feels so real, you can almost feel the hand cupping your face. Can almost hear the warm, beautiful voice of your best friend and love. But you know it’s all in your head, and it’s not real.   
  
You think you can hear an ambulance in the distance, probably a figment of your imagination. And then it’s all black.

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure; everything I wrote as a teenager ended in suicide or a suicide attempt. I was really hung up on it (most likely due to my own struggle with the issue), and loved writing about it. When I started writing this, the plan was for it to end fluffy and happy, but then that one sad song started playing on spoofy, and here we are. 
> 
> It's been a while since I wrote angst, so I'm not sure what I think about it. I tried leaving it open-ended, because fuck you why not. 
> 
> (Sorry if anyone who reads this are negatively affected by it, that was not my intention at all. I enjoy writing about these themes because I've lived them and suffered them, and writing them makes me feel better, or something? I don't want anyone to suffer because of something I've written, so if you do, I'm very, very sorry. You're all fantastic people.)


End file.
